Darkest Dungeon Diaries
by Rakked
Summary: A complete run of Darkest Dungeon, writing one in-character diary entry per in-game week from a rotating cast of warriors, scholars, and madmen. Who will survive? Who will lose their minds? Who will stoop to depths they never dreamed of? Will the plague doctor and highwayman ever kiss? Find out... in the Darkest Dungeon Diaries.
1. Introduction

This is a writing project I undertook inspired by the trinket _Vestal's Salacious Diary_. I wrote a few entries from that diary as part of a project on Reddit, and I got to thinking that it would be a lot of fun to do a full run of _Darkest Dungeon_ writing an in-character diary entry every week, developing characters for my adventurers and rolling with the punches of RNG.

Reynauld and Dismas have the canon backstories as given in the comics. Characters with randomly-generated names have broad-strokes similar backstories that I occasionally expanded on.

I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them. There are 18 chapters total that I will be posting from time to time. I intend to carry on with a sequel using the _Crimson Court_ DLC later, as real life permits.


	2. Arrival

**_Week 1 – Reynauld, Crusader_**

 _The crusade is over._

 _This place is terrible, in its way, but it is better than those strange lands. Familiar despite the reeking shadows to seaward._

 _Parts of it remind me of home._

 _The Heir of the ruined manor has hired a grim fellow named Dismas to join us. He is good with a blade and a good shot, but he will not speak long with me, and he turns aside when I pray._

 _Still I feel he is kindred somehow. He has also left someone behind._

 _There is a stagecoach waiting at the Hamlet. Perhaps it will have brought more soldiers._

 _I, Reynauld, wrote this._

* * *

 ** _Week 2 – Bosc, Plague Doctor_**

 _A dreadful place, in need of better doctors. And am I paid to doctor villagers? I am not. I am paid to throw poison at monsters._

 _This vile backwater makes less sense than the university. At least here they try to stab you in the front._

 _However, my research into bone-etching acids has improved enormously. Shocking how much more quickly it goes with this wealth of practical experimentation!_

 _That gives me an idea that I shan't commit to paper._

 _More mercenaries arrive every day. Another mission is afoot; I remain here at the Heir's request to see to certain preparations required to reopen the Sanitarium, but there is an appealing gentleman from the South with an appealingly mangy hound. I must ask if he will let me examine her._

 _Bosc, Dr. Md., physician._

* * *

 ** _Week 3 – Adenay, Vestal_**

 _I have never seen a town more in need of the Light._

 _There is a fearful darkness in this place, but I believe we can drive it back. The sisters of the abbey here are more kindly than those of St. Martha's._

 _A handsome commander from the crusades is leading us today into the ruins of an ancient mansion. I wonder if he is one of the knights who came to St. Martha's for a blessing before leaving for the war?_

 _My mace is ready and my faith is strong. The ruins await._

 **~Later~**

 _Rapture! I cannot describe the strange elation that comes from lashes received in the service of the Light. I write this from my bed, with stitched wounds glowing in my side. Their blades and whips opened my skin and I could feel my sins leaving me, burned away in the fire of holy pain._

 _Raising your hand and seeing the Light respond and monsters wither in its blaze is indescribable. Ecstasy!_

 _Dr. Bosc gave me something to drink. I feel as if I am floating. She is an excellent doctor._

 _Adenay, in service to the Light._

* * *

 ** _Week 4 – Mathan, Houndmaster_**

 _Air here's better than in the city. Lulubelle's doing better. Giving voice well._

 _Not much law, just the Heir's money and his mercenaries to enforce it. But maybe that's better. We've seen how much good the law is._

 _Small towns and small laws are better. But maybe that leads to destruction just as easily, hey, girl?_

 _No point in this. Venturing into the Weald. At least putting beasts down is easier than men._

 _Most men. Some it's a pleasure._

 _There's nothing good in the past. Maybe there's a light coming._

 _Mathan._

* * *

 ** _Week 5 – Dismas, Highwayman_**

 _It's a fecking lie._

 _Bosc, that rancid bitch, claims that I have syphilis. Syphilis! The one sin I've been innocent of is infidelity. If a man had said I had defiled my marriage I would have killed him._

 _The salves she gave me soothed the pustules. I would have kissed her for that, but I despise her and she doesn't want to catch… whatever this is._

 _Fortunately, she seems to have kept her theorizing about my disease behind that inscrutable mask. I imagine the sly glances that new girl's been giving me would be of a much different character if Bosc had been chattering. She calls herself "Berners," which I imagine must be her surname, if it is her name at all._

 _She is attractive, and she obviously comes from money. But I cannot look at her in that way yet._

 _Reynauld's incessant praying grates at my nerves. He does it to soothe his own heart, I think. But my sin weighs on me, and I do not want to remember the Light._

 _Dismas._


	3. Hags and Heresy

**_Week 6 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 1st entry._

 _I arrived at the nameless Hamlet in company with other wandering fighters. This is not a disciplined organization. Soldiers wander the streets, sleeping in the tavern or the abbey, or in some citizen's home… There are neither barracks nor officers, but one Reynauld seems to be keeping order._

 _I am not used to being around this many civilian women. I have been campaigning too long. And there is nothing else for me to do now._

 _I took up mace and shield to scout the Weald. There is a strange, dark man with us – possessed by a demon or some dark invention. His name is Thorel, and his affliction is crueler than that of the lepers that also serve the Heir of this place._

 _The expedition was successful. Wolves and brigands and strange fungal beasts fell before us._

 _I have no desire to write in more detail._

 _The physician asked me to bring back a sample of the weird creatures we encountered. I also found a strange, blighted talisman. I will speak with the physician about it._

 _My stomach troubles me. Perhaps she can help._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 ** _Week 7 – Dismas, Highwayman_**

 _Sick again. I'm getting tired of this._

 _Some rotting dog-thing in the Weald bit me. I swear Bosc was grinning behind that mask as she described the symptoms. "Inflammation of the brain, paranoia, hydrophobia, aggression, and inevitable death!" or words to that effect._

 _I didn't give her the satisfaction of seeing it, but those needles stung like nothing I've ever felt, and I have been stabbed more than a few times._

 _Pevrel is a good companion. We escorted two peculiar women who always seemed to keep us between them and the enemy, but they were remarkably handy with those foreign knives they carry. Between Pevrel's coordination, my reflexes, and their knives we fought our way through. They were astonishingly apt at finding loot; I could barely carry the pile of treasures and heirlooms we found. And now they are drinking and gambling their troubles away while I await the next syringe. Life is cruel._

 _Pevrel found a strange, blighted idol in the Weald. I think he gave it to Bosc. Doubtless she will distill more of her sulfurous poisons from whatever is infecting the thing._

 _I had an… experience. It was after returning to the Hamlet. I saw Reynauld kneeling in front of an icon at the Abbey, and I felt a strange prickling feeling on the back of my neck, like someone had just walked over my grave._

 _He was praying, and I listened for a while._

 _I feel the Light calling me, and begrudgingly I must give in. I will go in to pray when I am out of this den of doctors. Perhaps there is forgiveness even for me._

 _Dismas._

(He became God Fearing.)

* * *

 ** _Week 8 – Bosc, Plague Doctor_**

 _With the Sanitarium open and that hawk-faced rascal Dismas cured, the Heir ordered me out into the field again. To be candid here if nowhere else, I relished the chance. Pevrel found a fascinating talisman in the Weald that appears to incubate a heretofore unknown strain of blight. I could write a lengthy treatise on it if the smirking bastards at the university would listen._

 _Alas, they would not. So into the bottles with the brew, and into the Ruins with me for field tests._

 _The Heir has attracted a strange group of adventurers here. There is a massive man in whitened armor and a masked helm who I strongly suspect carries a form of leprosy. He led us into the crypts, and I was taken aback by his extraordinary strength. That gigantic sword of his crashed through bones and cultist flesh with startling ease._

 _I must make some excuse to examine him more closely. There are diseases here that I have neither read of nor encountered, and I am_ very _well read. Dismas' "rabies" was of a rapidly-presenting variety of unknown mortality, and I did not observe the usual psychological symptoms. If Raoullin's form of leprosy does not sap his strength or vitality, it may be of use in any number of ways._

 _I must ponder._

 _Bosc, Dr. Md., physician._

* * *

 ** _Week 9 – Reynauld, Crusader_**

 _Tonight we delve into the Ruins once more, to rout out a false prophet who is enflaming the heretics and apostates that infest this land. Our party will consist of myself, Raoullin, and two foreign wizards. I mislike their company, but they are strong in their opposition to the cult we war against._

 _And anyways, wizardry is less great a sin than heresy, and a false prophet is the worst of heretics. They are good men, and I believe that with the grace of the Light they will stand against the dark._

 _Raoullin is a wise man and an experienced warrior. His skin is marred but his faith is powerful. Together we will triumph._

 _I saw Dismas praying in the Transept. I hope the Light grants him peace._

 _Now, into the crypt._

 _I, Reynauld, wrote this._

* * *

 ** _Week 10 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 4th Entry_

 _Reynauld is on a mission into the crypt, and the Heir looks to me to coordinate our efforts. It makes sense, I suppose. I am by far the most experienced here, but I will admit I looked for that burden to be lifted._

 _Needs must when the devil drives._

 _Reynauld, crusader that he is, is aflame to exterminate some ranting heretic who the mad cultists of this land follow. My priorities are more practical. The Weald is the road into and out of this place, and keeping that way clear must be first in our minds._

 _There are rumors of some diseased hag spreading plagues. Dr. Bosc and the sisters at the Sanitarium have provided us with potent salves to drive the sickness out, and I am organizing a campaign to penetrate the woods and purify the infected corpses the hag has placed._

 _Berners, Thorel, and a cackling lunatic named Picvini will accompany me. Picvini is strange but utterly reliable and obedient, and I admit that his jokes and songs lighten the journey. I wish we'd had him with us at Mahdia._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._


	4. Abomination

**_Week 11 – Berners, Grave Robber_**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I've been here for over a month and I don't know the name of this wretched village. They just call it the Hamlet. I don't think it_ has _a name._

 _Which is really just perfect, isn't it? From sipping tea with viscountesses to sipping cheap wine in a town without a name._

 _One thing, though. The men are more interesting here, not to mention the women. There's less of the giggling inanities of the aristocracy and considerably more… well, never mind that._

 _The last few weeks have been taken up with lengthy excursions into a rotten woodland under the command of a soldier named Pevrel. He is bossy, but efficient, and I admit it is comforting to have that big shield of his between my tender flesh and the claws of the monsters._

 _I believe my skill with blades surprised him at first, the old warhorse. It didn't take him long to realize and make use of it, though. He's smarter than you'd think, and really quite good-looking._

 _Signed, Berners._

* * *

 ** _Week 12 – Dismas, Highwayman_**

 _Caught a terrible cough while retrieving medicines in the Weald. Ironic, really._

 _Bosc asked me if I was getting sick on purpose. I swear that gargoyle of a woman gets more mirthful about my suffering every week._

 _Come to think of it, I've never seen her face. I wonder what she looks like under that mask?_

 _Hideous, I'm sure._

 _Berners came with us. Her, Raoullin, and Adenay._

 _There's something a bit off about that Vestal. She seems sweet and innocent, but she gets very odd when a fight starts. A bit fanatical, in a different way from Reynauld._

 _Berners is an excellent hand with those knives of hers. We should have a contest sometime._

 _After this cough is gone. Bosc has me inhaling some kind of herbal steam. It smells quite nice._

 _She really is a good doctor, damn her filthy grinning guts._

 _Dismas._

* * *

 ** _Week 13 – Thorel, Abomination_**

 _Going into forest again, without Pevrel this time. Nervous. It's easy to take orders from him. Helps keep it calm. But Picvini's here and he's good at distracting it._

 _Skinny foreign fellow named Howard leading us. He's some kind of wizard. Pevrel says he helped kill a false prophet who was leading the cultists, but there seem to be just as many of them around now so who knows._

 _Hard to write since it happened. Used to be so easy, writing notes in the laboratory, letters. Damned fingers keep twitching, hard to concentrate. But I'm trying._

 _Moon's on the rise. I have to go._

 _Licinius Thorel, Dr. Theol., Dr. Md._

* * *

 ** _Week 14 – Picvini, Jester_**

 _Dearest Diary,_

 _I am running out of money. Isn't that funny?_

 _No, I didn't think so either._

 _I'm not really sure where it all goes. It can't all be to replace my broken lute strings._

 _I do break a lot of lute strings, though. The perils of taking a fecking lute into a fecking dungeon._

 _All things considered, it's most likely the wine. When I was at court, bad wine was cheap. Here, it all has to be carted through the Weald. Bad wine and good wine are both expensive, so why not drink good wine?_

 _Hence my empty purse._

 _Speaking of the Weald, Pevrel led us into that maze again. I've spent four of the last five weeks in that fungal nightmare. It's like a second home now. But hell, anything's better than court._

 _We tracked down a truly, incredibly disgusting witch. She put Somneri into a_ pot. _A massive, bubbling cauldron. It actually smelled pretty good, but then we started cutting the hag up and by the time she fled the stench was so bad that I actually turned up my nose at dinner._

 _On the other hand, it was stew. I don't think Somneri was very hungry for that, either. Pevrel's soldier-grandpa humor, I guess._

 _Still, for a sheltered virgin, she took it pretty well. Sheltered? I don't actually know what kind of training those Vestals go through. Come to think of it, they're_ all _pretty tough. Adenay is downright scary sometimes._

 _I'm rambling and running out of ink. And money. Still._

 _Sgd., Picvini._

* * *

 ** _Week 15 – Bosc, Plague Doctor_**

 _Short entry. Almost died._

 _Expedition into the Weald to destroy a brigand cannon. Had to be done, and I had ingredients to gather and poisons to test on something other than animated bones._

 _Possibility of being shot by cannon had not occurred to me. It did not actually hit me. Obviously. But a bursting shell feels like nothing I have ever experienced. Somneri's magic helped, but I am covered in bruises and stitches and sticky salves._

 _Maybe if I am lucky Dismas will get sick again and I will be able to take some of this out on him._

 _Bosc._


	5. The Profane Scroll

**_Week 16 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 7th Entry_

 _That was a grim business._

 _I have been officially named Reynauld's second. I accepted from a combination of resignation and the promise of greater pay. I do not know if it was worth it._

 _I led another hunt into the Weald to execute the Hag. There are many hags in those woods, but I believe we all think of her as_ the _Hag. There is something deeply unsettling about her. Perhaps it is only that she has apparently gorged herself on more human flesh than the rest of them._

 _I hear whispers that in her youth she was once the lover of the old lord of this place. I cannot give them credence, but if true, and if he tolerated her feastings, his depravity must have been great._

 _The forest paths seemed strangely endless, twisting madly as we walked them. We were already bone weary when we found her. And then that horribly bubbling cauldron!_

 _Berners was the first into the pot, and she was stabbed and boiled almost to death by the time we dragged her out. Then the Hag grabbed me._

 _She is as strong as an ox. I will not dwell on the sensation of being boiled alive. Fortunately, Picvini, Adenay, and the resuscitated Berners were able to drive the beast off and free me._

 _It was a grueling week. We will all need time to recuperate. I know a pretty little thing in the Tavern who will happily help me spend some of this pay before she takes me upstairs. Maybe she'll even pretend to be disappointed when she finds out that the only service I need with clothes off is help with these burn salves._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 ** _Week 17 – Mathan, Houndmaster_**

 _Long journey this week. The Weald's cleaner now, seems. At least on the outskirts. Pevrel's been organizing missions to rout out the hag-cult. Pity that the arch-hag keeps escaping. There's something brewing in the dark there that I can smell when the wind's right._

 _Lulubelle likes the woods. She's looking healthier, but I think she's got a taste for those mushroom-things. Doctor's been after me to examine her more, and I think I'll let her. Need to ask if that's safe._

 _It was a few of the new ones that we went out with. One girl down from the north, from one of those tribes that paint their faces. Had to give the old blackjack to more than a few of that type back in the city. They just don't take well to city life, but it was a comfort having her with us in the woods._

 _Going to talk to the doctor._

 _Mathan._

* * *

 ** _Week 18 – Raoullin, Leper_**

 _There is cruelty and madness in this dark place, but the Light prevails._

 _I am blessed with freedom from fear and a strong sword arm, and the Light has given me the gift of spending my rapidly shortening time using those blessings to ensure the safety of others – mind and body._

 _Bosc, a learned woman and a physician, has approached me several times seeking to examine me. I believe that she suspects my affliction gives me my great strength. It is true that I was not so powerful before, but I know that power is from the Light and her examinations would be useless. I prefer to spend my time in contemplation and reading._

 _Anyways, she is recovering from wounds received from a second expedition against the brigands and their cannon. She was so badly hurt before that I do not know why she was so zealous to go out against them again. I suspect she does not know, either._

 _I speak often with Reynauld. Like me, he has served the Light in distant lands. But I have not yet told him of my history. I fear his knowing the circumstances of my service and how I came to bear this ruined flesh would change his view of me._

 _We talk instead of theology. He has a soldier's simple understanding, but he is eager to learn. I do not know if he will ever understand the deep doctrines implicit in the Verses'_ lingua populo. _I despair of explaining the distinction between calling upon the Light, the Fire, and the Flame. But he also has surprising insights, born of much suffering and long, if untrained, thought._

 _The candle burns low, and I would read the Verses before it is snuffed out._

 _The Light prevails. Raoullin._

* * *

 ** _Week 19 – Reynauld, Crusader_**

 _Having spoken with the locals, I determined that the stinking Cove on the east side of the headland deserved martial attention. With the Heir's assent, I organized a party of myself, Dr. Bosc, Somneri, and an experienced houndmaster named Bellecote. Somneri and Bosc work well together; they have saved each other's lives more than once._

 _It was worse than I expected. Eldritch, tentacular idols, hybrid fish-men… I have rarely seen a more blasphemous landscape. The abandoned wharves and houses, the wrecked ships, the teeming cultists – both human and subhuman. It is an abode of degenerate savagery._

 _It reminds me of the voyage to the crusade. One of our fellow-ships ran up against a rocky islet in the darkness. We put off boats to save those we could. That shore was much like this one. Idolatrous shrines and the reek of fish and worse._

 _There are a few less idolaters and a few less fish-things there now, though. And I will not be remiss in the future. That foul place will be cleansed in the name of the Light._

 _I, Reynauld, wrote this._

* * *

 ** _Week 20 – Somneri, Vestal_**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I have it._

 _It is exactly as I pictured it. As the stranger described it, years ago. A profane scroll_

 _of vellum, the image of a goatish, demonic figure locked in a strange embrace with a human, surrounded by indecipherable characters hinting at an obscure and ancient origin._

 _I do not know why it fires my imagination so, but merely clutching it I can feel its power. I must understand it. I must find a way to read it._

 _I did not tell Reynauld I found it, or Adenay. I believe I will ask Howard about the language. He is learned in those things, and he is a traveler from a distant land. And I feel instinctively that he, occultist that he is, will not blanch at something that smacks of heresy._

 _Reynauld would have burned it. It is lucky he was looking away. I do not think I could bear to lose it._

 _I am not a heretic. But I must learn what this scroll has to say. I do not know if it is anything more than the curiosity that has tormented me since childhood. I do not care._

 _It makes me feel giddy and dizzy just looking at it. What could it say? How old is it? Older than the Verses?_

 _I will study it. Perhaps some will be made clear._

 _Tomorrow I will speak with Howard._

 _Somneri, srv. Lux._


	6. Funeral for a Friend

**_Week 21 – Thorel, Abomination_**

 _Went with Pevrel and Howard into the Ruins. I like the Weald better. Open spaces._

 _Howard found a secret door. There must be many of them in this place. We broke the door down. Expected books, a laboratory. Found a box of heads._

 _Heads. Preserved somehow. Not alchemically, and Howard says not an occult technique he is familiar with._

 _Definitely magical. Maybe related to that nightmare thing the others have seen._

 _Will consult with Dr. Bosc and Couer. Not at the same time._

 _Licinius Thorel, Dr. Theol., Dr. Md._

* * *

 ** _Week 22 – Raoullin, Leper_**

 _There is a black circle of necromancers lurking in the Ruins. Reynauld asked me to lead a mission to slay one of them. He is busy with the Coves, planning a campaign to wipe out the fish-things and cultists that make it their home._

 _For myself, I am content. That kind of strategy is not my forte. I am more comfortable in the vanguard, putting myself between these unholy monstrosities and my companions._

 _Somneri seems distracted, but she is full of a vigor that gladdens me. She was right behind me through the fight, mace and prayer at the ready, and when we rested I saw her poring closely over a religious scroll._

 _She seemed too intent on reading the arcane scrawlings that pack the bookshelves in that maze. And in her prayers I heard one or two lines that make me wonder if she is slipping into the Travesian error and over-anthropomorphizing the Light – a minor theological distinction, perhaps, but one that we should speak of ere long._

 _The Light prevails. Raoullin._

* * *

 ** _Week 23 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 14th Entry_

 _Another excursion into the Weald after medicines. I am beginning to be suspicious at the regularity with which our chirurgic supplies are being ambushed. I have heard of the brigand leader, Vvulf, and I have spoken with the Heir. I believe that he has spies in the Hamlet._

 _Thorel came with me. He is good companion, for all his strangeness, and the abominable brand on his face. He spoke to me once of some alchemical accident, some demon within him that bursts out at times, but I have never seen it. Careful plans and drills, solid ranks, and firm leadership have kept us from any calamity that might have brought on such a fit._

 _With any luck, this will continue._

 _Mathan continues to be surpassingly useful in the Weald, and the Heir has acquired several crossbow-wielding mercenary women. I took one of them, Vatteville, along with us. She and Mathan work very well together. Something to keep in mind._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 ** _Week 24 – Somneri, Vestal_**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _It is everything I imagined. I have only deciphered fragments, and Howard is reluctant to speak of it. He seems to think that it is dangerous, although I know he will not tell the others of it._

 _But Howard is not the only wizard here. Couer may be more forthcoming, and am I not a scholar myself? I will continue delving into this mystery. Perhaps we have been entirely wrong about the first worship of the Light! I must know more._

 _Raoullin worries me. He mentioned some minor heresy, muttering around the campfire about theologians and heresiarchs. If he could read this scroll he would mutter in a different tone!_

 _There is so much to do and so little candlelight. I have borrowed several of the oldest available theological tomes from the Heir and Raoullin, supplementing them with some volumes I sneaked out of the Ruins. The scroll awaits._

 _Somneri._

* * *

 ** _Week 25 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 15th Entry_

 _It is with a heavy heart I write this._

 _Reynauld is dead._

 _I have lost brothers in arms before. More than a few. But Reynauld was a strong arm, a sure hand, and the leader this dire place needed. We are all the lesser for this loss. Where others succumbed to the evil surrounding us, it seemed to animate him to ever greater efforts. I take scant comfort to know that he died in the act of cleansing an altar of evil. All who live here are safer for his sacrifice and his dedication._

 _I am in command now. Reynauld's final wish was for the Cove to be cleansed, but I must focus my efforts on the Weald still. I will speak with Dismas and Dr. Bosc. They command much respect among the ones I intend to assign to the Cove, and I require lieutenants for that region until I am free to take over._

 _I found a letter in Reynauld's personal effects. It seems he was married. I do not know if his wife and son still live, and I am reluctant to send this out through the Weald until the Hag is finally slain and the brigands routed out._

 _Light grant that I live long enough._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._


	7. Blood in the Weald

**_Week 26 – Picvini, Jester_**

 _So._

 _Reynauld is dead._

 _Everyone seems a little more wary now. Pevrel sent us out into the Weald to scout out patches of useful herbs and fungi for Bosc. She, Raoullin, and that fellow Bellecote with his dog. I don't like his dog as much as I like Lulubelle. Bellecote's dog is too well-groomed. I don't trust a dog that doesn't look like it plays in the dirt now and again._

 _We found some bizarre feathers and heard some kind of lunatic screeching like nothing I've ever encountered. Dr. Bosc thinks it is some overgrown, mutated bird. I think we'll have to do something about it soon. Gives me the willies._

 _With Pevrel's focus on clearing the Weald, there have been more wagons through, and that means cheaper wine, so back to the Tavern with me!_

 _Sgd., Picvini._

* * *

 ** _Week 27 – Dismas, Highwayman_**

 _Everything seems bleak this week. Reynauld passed half a month ago, and we've finally gotten everything organized. Pevrel's asked me to work with Bosc on a plan of attack against the Cove, but that had to wait. Some ugly bird-thing in the Weald that needed killing._

 _Nearly killed us. Berners got savaged pretty bad, and it was only Somneri's prayers that kept us going. Come to think of it, Somneri was torn up herself, but she didn't seem to show it. No idea what those women are made of, but it's tougher stuff than you'd expect._

 _Raoullin never flinched, but I could see the strain in his eyes. He almost fell when the thing flew away. That damnable shrieking! We're all close to a breakdown._

 _The nest was full of strange gemstones. Berners called them trapezohedrons, which I assume means some kind of jewel. Puzzling things. Keep changing color, and I swear they shine in the dark._

 _Part of me wanted to keep one. Keep looking at it. But I didn't. That part of my life is over._

 _I'm going to talk with Bosc about the Cove. Might as well have done with it. Maybe the planning will make this uneasiness pass._

 _Dismas._

* * *

 ** _Week 28 – Vatteville, Arbalest_**

 _My Dearest,_

 _I hope you are well, wherever you are. I know it is unlikely that you will ever receive this letter. But I hope you do._

 _I am still in this dismal town. It is in part because I know that you might come here, or hear of it. I believe this is the kind of place that you would like to see. I remember how you loved the stories of heroes taking up arms against the foul things that plague the world._

 _I am safe and whole, despite the monsters and madmen surrounding me. We have a good leader, and good comrades in arms. You'd like Mathan. He's a cranky old lawman, and he has the strangest, smartest dog I've ever known._

 _Not much time left tonight. I will write you again next week, like always. I hope you get this letter. I hope I see you again._

 _Your loving mother, Vatteville._

* * *

 ** _Week 29 – Raoullin, Leper_**

 _The mercies of the Light sometimes seem cruel._

 _I am deeply troubled. Somneri is dead, slain at the hands of foul things of the Weald. We had set out to retrieve more medicines from raided caravans. Somehow the brigands and apostates always seem to know which are the most important to strike._

 _She died in battle, and in her pack I found a profane scroll. It is an ugly thing, disquieting and blasphemous. I believe, based on certain texts she asked me to lend her and certain minor heresies she was flirting with, that she had been studying it more deeply than is safe._

 _I know better than most how intoxicating the rush of such false knowledge can be, and I know the penalty… as, now, so does she. She should not have kept rushing to the forefront of the battle._

 _I take comfort in the fact that she never fell into the uttermost depths of the heresies contained in this scroll. Unlike me. But she never left the Light, and I returned to it._

 _There are bitter memories here. I should have seen the signs. I know them all too well._

 _Somneri, my sister in the Light, your soul is shining in paradise. I will see you again._

 _The Light prevails. Raoullin._

* * *

 ** _Week 29(b) – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 17th Entry_

 _I will not abide this. I will not. That foulness that lurks in the Weald will be slaughtered. I have sent a scouting mission. Then I myself will lead a party into the Weald to slay the Hag._

 _Soon we will know the location of the brigands' last cannon. Then we will find Vvulf and put him to the sword._

 _I will not abide this._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 ** _Week 30 – Von Kalmbach, Crusader_**

 _I hate this place. I do not know why I stay here._

 _It does not suit my profession, for one. I am a sword in the hands of the Light to defend the faithful against the pagans who seek their lives and lands. It makes no sense for me to be in some miserable Hamlet halfway across the continent from where the armies of the East crouch on our borders._

 _I do not even properly remember how I came to be here. I was black drunk. If my horse hadn't died in the tavern yard I would still be travelling. But it did, and here I am._

 _Maybe it's the women. There's something about this damned oppressive atmosphere that makes them eager to take their minds off it._

 _I hate this place. Be damned to the cultists and the creatures and the dead and the living. But there is gold, and the things we fight are certainly profane enough, so maybe it counts. Who the hell knows._

 _Gottfried von Kalmbach._


	8. Departure, and the Lioness' Song

**_Week 31 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 18th Entry_

 _I have sinned grievously, and once again someone under my command has paid the price._

 _We were not ready. I knew we were not but I blinded myself to the fact. It is not the first time I have made this error. It is always inexcusable._

 _Another sister of the Light has fallen. Adenay's body rests in the earth. At least we saved her from the cooking pot._

 _I should have waited, trained them more._

 _I will not break under this strain. I know that I am bending. I need solace, and the expiation of my sins. Raoullin can organize expeditions. I must leave for a time._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 ** _Week 32 – Miron, Antiquarian_**

 _To: My Noble Correspondent:_

 _Your grace,_

 _Matters have proceeded much as I anticipated. Presenting myself as an antiquarian, adventuress, and scholar of ancient lore, I have been able to infiltrate various scouting and resource-gathering missions. This is a unique place. Certainly one hears rumors of all manner of bizarre creatures and happenings, but here they are concentrated in a manner utterly singular, at least in my wide experience._

 _Please find enclosed two sketched copies of portraits and an excised signature block from a deed dated apprx. fifty years ago. I believe you will agree with me that the genealogical investigation you hired me to undertake will bear fruit, and that it would be wise to keep this information confidential for now. Rumors as to your ancestry would be extraordinarily inconvenient at this delicate time in your political career._

 _I will write again when practicable._

 _Your Correspondent,_

 _Miron._

* * *

 ** _Week 33 – Raoullin, Leper_**

 _Two weeks ago, Pevrel ensconced himself in the Abbey's Penance Hall, leaving me in temporary command. Now he has disappeared._

 _It seemed good to me that we fill the Heir's empty coffers, so I have organized several forays in search of salable items. In this, the scholar Miron has been a great help. She is extremely skilled at ferreting out valuables._

 _My chief concern, however, is the death of the Hag. I believe it can be accomplished, but the horror of that great, bubbling cauldron is such that I would not send another. I must prepare thoroughly. If, as I am convinced, we are able to corner her and cut off her escape, she will fight like a demon._

 _No time to write, no time to meditate. My work awaits._

 _The Light prevails. Raoullin._

* * *

 ** _Week 34 – Gwenllian, Hellion_**

 _Comes now Gwenllian, lioness of battle_

 _Queen of the spear, the halberd's mistress_

 _Feeder of crows, to sing of her battle_

 _Into the forest she led her companions_

 _Rache the harper, Bossard axe-wielder_

 _Rousell the priestess, cloaked and Light-bearing_

 _Into the woods, with death all around them_

 _Bravely they ventured to map darkling pathways_

 _Witches and giants rose up against them_

 _Keen blades and spells cast giants to ruin_

 _Hag, wolf, and foeman all slaughtered together_

 _Red-flowing blood now carpets the forest_

 _Gwenllian came forward, mighty in battle_

 _Her spear sang for joy as it slew countless foemen_

 _Dripping with blood, the bane of the giants_

 _Until the dark forest was silent and somber_

 _Silent save only for cawing of crows_

* * *

 ** _Week 35 – Raoullin, Leper_**

 _Death surrounds us, but the Light is stronger than the darkness, and the darkness does not comprehend it._

 _Pevrel has returned. I do not know where he was wandering, but more than a month of penance, fasting, and prayer has steeled him for what is to come._

 _Reynauld, Somneri, Adenay… All servants of the Light. I believe that the evil lurking in this place sensed it. The fish-cultists, the Hag and her daughters, the black circle in the Ruins – the fingers of a monstrous hand._

 _Pevrel requires time to recover. I will continue to organize expeditions. Gwenllian has proven herself a more than capable leader, despite her superstitions. I am grateful for her aid._

 _It is written that we will be tested. This is a terrible test. Compared to it, even those black days in the uttermost East are a good memory. But we are borne up by holy purpose and the knowledge of our salvation._

 _Each week, we map more of the Weald and slay more of its wicked inhabitants. We will be ready soon._

 _The Light prevails. Raoullin._

* * *

(I think the diaries might have been affecting my game... I wrote about Pevrel having an internal crisis and sent him to flagellate, and he was gone for _four weeks_.)

(Don't make fun of Gwenllian's poetry. She tries her best.)


	9. Preparation

**_Week 36 – Bosc, Plague Doctor_**

 _Our plans for the Cove have been put on hold, possibly indefinitely._

 _Am I surprised? I am not. I do not believe that the Heir understood the kind of strategies that this war requires._

 _We have been here for the larger part of a year, and thankfully there have been only three deaths. I admit the loss of Somneri struck me very hard. Fortunately, I have been kept busy curing the infinite illnesses this pack of mongrels keeps picking up. Miron, despite her pretenses of education, managed to acquire syphilis after some debauched ramblings in the brothel. Possibly from Dismas._

 _That is slightly unfair, as that particular villain seems almost ascetic lately. Perhaps he is thinking of becoming a Vestal._

 _There is a great deal of work to do, and Raoullin is spending most of his time training a new group of adventurers specifically to finally put an end to the Hag. As far as the scouts can tell, the brigands of the Weald have only one remaining cache of artillery, so perhaps that region will be properly cleansed soon, and we can turn our attention elsewhere._

 _Bosc, Dr. Md., physician._

* * *

 ** _Week 37 – Bossard, Bounty Hunter_**

 _Mother,_

 _The rumors were true. Adenay was here._

 _She is dead._

 _She was killed by some nameless, cannibal hag-cult that infests the forests around the Hamlet. I saw her grave. Her commander, a man named Pevrel, assures me that he saved her body from the witches, and she rests in consecrated ground._

 _I am sorry to have to tell you this. I'm sorry I could not come back and tell you in person. I hope you will understand. But I will not leave until the cult that murdered my sister has been purged, root and branch._

 _I know this will be hard for you to hear. I love you. I will send money back as often as I can._

 _Your devoted son, Bossard._

* * *

 ** _Week 38 – Miron, Antiquarian_**

 _To: My Noble Correspondent:_

 _Your grace,_

 _I assure you in the strongest possible terms, my previous letter contained no veiled threat. I did not mention your political situation to hint at any additional remuneration, and I swear to you that there is no need for any harsh or permanent response._

 _I beg you to remember that I have served you faithfully and confidentially for two years, never once revealing anything that passed between us, and any link between you and that scandalous family that I will refrain from naming in writing would of course remain equally secret._

 _Consider my long service and valuable qualities. I know the reach of your influence and would never dare to betray you._

 _Confident in your forbearance and knowing the futility of flight, I await instruction._

 _Your humble servant,_

 _Miron._

* * *

 ** _Week 39 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 19th Entry_

 _For the first time in long months, I feel myself again. Better than myself._

 _My sins and weakness overwhelmed me. I sought forgiveness and clarity in the lash._ And I found it. _I feel reborn. Strong and focused._

 _Raoullin has proved himself a dozen times over. I will rely more on his advice. I am preparing a proper council of advisors, to assist the Heir in the prosecution of this campaign._

 _The force that Raoullin has been training is almost ready. We have a chance to kill the Hag. We will take it. That lurking evil cannot be allowed to live out the year. But we will be cautious._

 _Miron, in a fit of insubordination I did not expect, led a group into the Cove without orders. They encountered a hideous creature, a siren of the deeps about which they were oddly disinclined to speak. I do not know what happened, but they drove her off._

 _Discipline must be maintained, but I think that awful experience is enough discipline for now._

 _This sort of excursion cannot be tolerated further. I will keep the tightest watch on our forays. They will be planned and prepared with the greatest of care, and we will prevail._

 _Soon, the Weald will be freed from the spreading shadow of evil._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 ** _Week 40 – Berners, Grave Robber_**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _The days are rather running together. I can't remember how long I've been here._

 _I'm not going out much. I spend my time reading and drinking when I'm not fighting. The roads are safer, now, and with the pay I'm drawing I've been able to buy real tea, so that's something._

 _Working for a wage. What would mother think? Not that I truly care, the frigid old bat._

 _I was worried about Pevrel, but he's back, and he looks good. Better, I mean. He's a bit old to "look good." I think. Anyways, he's back and he seems like a new man._

 _I don't really feel anything about Reynauld, Adenay, or Somneri. I knew them all, obviously. Adenay and Somneri have both saved my life. But… nothing._

 _Maybe it's my aristocratic upbringing._

 _At any rate, we're getting ready for another push into the Weald. Pevrel and Raoullin seem to be confident that we will succeed this time. I, for one, am looking forward to knowing that bitch is dead._

 _I hear wagons outside. Maybe they'll have my last order of tea._

 _Signed, Berners._


	10. The Cleansing of the Weald

**_Week 41 – Bosc, Plague Doctor_**

 _Resounding success! My latest expedition into the Ruins has confirmed what I believed – my new bone-etching acid, utilizing the strain of blight derived from the amulet Pevrel found for me in the Weald, mixed with an activating decoction of virulent botanicals (list attached) in pitch darkness and stored at body heat in complete stillness for one week, has proven to be possibly the pinnacle of my achievements in weaponization thus far. Watching those skeletal nightmares melting to the floor as the fruits of science unknit their misbegotten limbs was magnificent. The others recoiled at the smell, but could not scoff at the efficacy!_

 _Not even the company of that ignoramus Von Kalmbach could render the experience less triumphant. The amount of alcohol he and Gwenllian went through at camp was appalling, and the Light only knows what they got up to after I turned in._

 _Doubtless I will be seeing them both soon, with unmentionable diseases. I will prepare my most unpleasant salves._

 _Bosc, Dr. Md., physician._

* * *

 ** _Week 42 – Vatteville, Arbalest_**

 _My Dearest,_

 _Little has changed here since my last letter. We are blessed with safety – at least relative safety. Many wounds, but no one has died since poor Adenay._

 _Her brother is here now. I speak with him often. He is quiet and sad, but fierce in battle. He reminds me of your father, before he passed._

 _We delved into the Ruins again, this time to put an end to some heretical prophet who the cultists follow. He was terrible. I do not know how human flesh could sustain the wounds he took and yet live, and the others tell me they thought him slain more than once. Two Eastern occultists were with us, to bind him with their spells and let us end him. They had been there when he was first thought killed. Couer and Howard. I do not think those are their real names, and I do not think they like each other. Couer is a boaster._

 _My time is up, and I must go. I hope this finds you well._

 _Your loving mother, Vatteville._

* * *

 ** _Week 43 – Mathan, Houndmaster_**

 _There's something in the air. Went out on a mission in the Weald clearing out infected corpses again, and when we got back everybody seemed… I don't know. Optimistic._

 _Doesn't really feel right, but it does feel good. We're ready. The Hag's going to die._

 _I wish I could go with them, but there are other duties. More folks here now and that means fighting and stealing and so forth, and the Light knows I know enough about all of that. So it's going to be Lulubelle and the blackjack and making sure none of these young folks actually kill anyone._

 _Von Kalmbach and Gwenllian might be trouble. They spend too much time in the Tavern drinking and shouting poetry at each other. I don't know if they understand the other's mother tongue, but they sure seem to enjoy it. Just funny to see a crusader palling around with a heathen like that._

 _As long as they keep it limited to being noisy I suppose it's alright._

 _Dr. Bosc's been taking good care of Lulubelle. She looks healthier than she has in months. I'm thankful._

 _Mathan._

* * *

 ** _Week 44 – Bossard, Bounty Hunter_**

 _Mother,_

 _The Hag is dead. I killed her with my own hand._

 _Weeks of training and hunting, searching those tangled glades, seeking out the diseased wretches that worshiped that unholy creature… I cannot easily express the abject vileness of the life those witches and their slaves lead. But it is done. Their mistress is dead. Gwenllian and Picvini helped me burn her body, and the Vestal Roussel consecrated the ashes before we buried them._

 _It will not bring Adenay back, but there is a measure of peace._

 _Pevrel has changed. He was a tortured, difficult to follow man when I arrived, but now he is firm and decisive, practical and organized, and I can see why he is so relied-upon._

 _This was a small victory, but there are countless evils in the wild lands and ruins about this little Hamlet. I understand why Adenay stayed._

 _I had sought to put off writing this. I am not coming home. There is too much here that needs hunting down, and I find that I desire nothing more than continuing the work Adenay died doing._

 _I hope the enclosed money helps. Please tell me if you need anything. I love you._

 _Your devoted son, Bossard._

* * *

 ** _Week 45 – Bosc, Plague Doctor_**

 _Bossard is a dunce._

 _I told him again and again that it was rabies, but he insisted on going on the expedition against the brigands' last artillery piece, and Pevrel was inclined to allow him._

 _Naturally, the only thing I could do was go along. He did not enjoy the leeches, and I ensured that the tinctures were disgusting enough to teach him a lesson, but at least he is cured._

 _We cleared out the brigands' den and spiked their cannon before rolling it into a river. I am concerned, however. Their leader, Vvulf, was nowhere to be found. I had expected him to be there, but apparently he had business elsewhere._

 _There is evidence suggesting that the shrieking bird-thing that almost ate Dismas four months ago is back. Perhaps it carries interesting diseases that I will be able to examine more closely if he is sent to drive it away again._

 _Bosc, Dr. Md., physician._


	11. Wolves at the Door

**_Week 46 – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 24th Entry_

 _The weeks since the Hag's death have passed by in a blur of motion. I feel healed and whole once more, energized for the task at hand._

 _The warriors Raoullin trained to slay her have proven useful. Bossard and Gwenllian in particular. Gwenllian has no discipline whatsoever, but she is an excellent, instinctive tactician, and a boon on the battlefield._

 _I sent a small party to drive off the hideous fowl that roosts in the Weald at times. Apparently even ridding the woods of the Hag and most of the brigands has not freed it of all evil._

 _I fear for Vvulf's return. I met him once, and I do not think that he is a man to take these setbacks lightly. All of his cannons destroyed, many of his men dead. We will see him again, and I must prepare._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 ** _Week 47 – Von Kalmbach, Crusader_**

 _Damn Pevrel and all commanders. If I'm to be creeping through the moldering tunnels of a wrecked estate for days at a time, it could at least be in good company._

 _Rache at least is diverting, despite the greasepaint. She seems to lift our spirits despite ourselves. Although I'd still prefer Gwenllian's company, if only because she always seems to have spirits on her. But she gets to stay and entertain the brothel while I tramp these endless corridors._

 _Vile place, the Ruins here. Dead men walking and not much to eat. Necromancers and cultists. It's as bad as the East._

 _It's not just the spirits, though. Damn me for a fool._

 _Gottfried von Kalmbach._

* * *

 ** _Week 48 – Dismas, Highwayman_**

 _Ugly week. The Weald is mostly clear now, but there's still work to be done keeping it that way. We went out on a long scouting expedition, but we were counting on being able to hunt up some of the food we'd need. There must have been something in the wind, because we ran out of victuals and there was nothing to be found. Vatteville almost died, and Picvini convinced us to call it off._

 _He's a very convincing chap. Maybe I'll ask him to talk to Bosc about making slightly less nightmarish medicines._

 _Von Kalmbach told me he saw her with her mask off, when they were all drinking Gwenllian's brews on a mission. He claims she's quite pretty, which I consider unlikely in the extreme._

 _She does have a pretty voice, though._

 _I must be losing my mind._

 _Dismas._

* * *

 ** _Week 49 – Raoullin, Leper_**

 _We have won a great victory._

 _I was returning from a brief tour of the nearby farms with Pevrel when we saw smoke rising from the Hamlet itself. Rache and Roussel were nearby, and we took them with us into the din._

 _There were brigands, beasts and madmen everywhere, and above everything, distant explosions and a great and terrible howling. The air was full of debris, screams, and the smell of sulfur._

 _I saw the others fighting all through the town as we raced straight towards that howling. Pevrel was shouting that it was the Vvulf. I caught a glimpse of Gwenllian flinging herself from the Tavern's balcony and impaling a brigand hunter, which I'm sure she will make a barbaric song about._

 _The center of town was a riot of war. Standing right next to the statue in the town square was Vvulf himself. An enormous man with a great shield in one hand and a bomb in the other, surrounded by brigands and fire. Pevrel commanded us into position, and we attacked._

 _I lost count of how many enemies fell beneath my blade, but there was a seemingly endless stream of them. Pevrel was magnificent. Every time a bomb went off, his shield was between us and it._

 _Eventually, with the blessing of the Light, it was over. Vvulf lay dead at my feet, my sword dripping with his blood. His howling voice stilled, and the other brigands looked around and fled._

 _Bossard and Vatteville were close by, he holding them off with his grappling hook and axe while she slew them with her bow. There were many others, too many deeds of heroism to count. And the damage to the Hamlet was much less than it had first appeared, praise the Light._

 _It was a great victory. The slain townsfolk were few – too many, but few all the same. And Pevrel took Vvulf's wolf-tail tassel as a trophy. We recovered a great deal of treasure from the brigands. Apparently they had been rooting out caches left by the Heir's Ancestor that Vvulf somehow knew of._

 _I cannot express the spirit of triumph this victory has brought us. It is a great blessing._

 _The Light prevails. Raoullin._


	12. The Last Peace

**_Week 50 – Von Kalmbach, Crusader_**

 _I can see now why so few ships frequent the Cove. Most places like this are nests of smugglers, but here? The damnable fish-folk and damned cultists and thrice-damned fish-priests would make that a chancy line of work indeed._

 _Fortunately for my peace of mind, by which I mean the liquor supply, the paths through the Weald are almost entirely safe now. Praise the Light and its beneficence! And now, to the Tavern._

 _Gottfried von Kalmbach._

* * *

 ** _Week 51 – Hue, Highway(wo)man_**

 _It's better than prison. That's what I keep telling myself._

 _I can't believe Picvini talked me into coming here. This is all his fault, anyways. If he hadn't kept jawing about that viscountess's jewelry I would never have gone for it and gotten this warrant out for me._

 _Not that I can ever stay mad at him, of course. And I suppose I'm at least partially to blame for trying to steal it._

 _At least there's a good Tavern here._

 _Hue._

* * *

 ** _Week 52 – Couer, Occultist_**

 _The Last Will and Testament of Nouh ibn Abdolreza, known as Couer:_

 _This is a barbarous language, and it comes not readily to my pen. But my colleague Howard, my only kinsman in this wretched sliver of the West, points out that only he and perhaps the brute Raoullin would be able to read our own tongue. And I do not wish these words to be read only by_ them.

 _There is a goodly sum of gold hidden in my personal effects. I trust Howard far enough to lay it upon him to give that gold, if he can find it, to the work of the One Prophet of the Light._

 _The fruits of my genius, as contained in my workbooks and ritual manuals, are to be_ **burned.** _No one, particularly Howard, is to read them._

 _To Thorel, who has my grudging respect, I leave the seventeen carved stones sewn into the hem of my robe. He will understand._

 _Anything else may be sold and the proceeds flung into the sea._

 ** _Nouh ibn Abdolreza_** , _known as Couer, wrote this in his own hand, witnessed by:_

 ** _Dr. Licinious Thorel._**

 ** _Miron._**

* * *

 ** _Week 52(b) – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _War Journal, 27th Entry_

 _Everything is going well. Our expeditions are successful, and the Hamlet prospers. We make progress towards finding the rest of the black circle of necromancers in the Ruins, and the Cove is better-mapped every week._

 _Vvulf is dead, thank the Light. And the routes through the Weald are safe._

 _I feel that we have reached a turning point, and that at last all will be well. The Heir has been much in his books and charts, and has ordered a mission to find the base camp of his Ancestor in the farthest ruins beneath the old manor on the cliffs and recover certain protective talismans that will be useful for further explorations._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._


	13. The Descent Begins

**_Week 53 – The Darkest Dungeon_**

Ecouland the Vestal, Rache the Jester, Thorel the Abomination, and Von Kalmbach the Crusader braved the first cruel descent into the teeth of madness. Some of them were able to write about their experiences.

* * *

 **Rache, Harlequin Jester**

 _Gongs! Gongs! Gongs in the dark! My heart is still hammering. I could not wait. I had to write. I'm on my knees in the mud under the dark woods, and I can still feel the gongs vibrating through my body._

 _Gongs and that terrible heartbeat! My entire body thrills to it. A crawling, shivering sensation in my skin. It's like being caressed by the sound. It's like a nightmare. It's ecstasy._

 _I saw things. Cultists chanting and keening, blood flowing down the stones, an endless orgiastic dance of monsters writhing against each other in the throbbing red light to the insistent brazen madness of the gongs. I saw a tall priest in black, and when I cut his belly open_ **_it was not blood and intestines that spilled out over my hands._**

 _I can't control myself. I'm shaking, trembling, like an agonizing orgasm that won't end._

 _If I go back to that place I will die of it._

* * *

 **Thorel, Abomination**

 _I have read much that is forbidden. The iron-bound books of Skelos that are said to predate humanity, the deeper heresies of Travesius that even my learned companion Raoullin has never seen, the vile Al Azif of the East that so informed my own alchemical experiments._

 _Today I saw things that I could never have imagined. There is a paradox world of lightless crimson and the infinite beating of a dreadful heart. This earth is a rind, a thin layer atop a primordial sea of blood and death and madness. I praise whatever is listening that my companions could not read the terrible inscriptions above those doors, the blasphemous praises scrawled over the instruments and altars. That they could not understand what the priests chanted._

 _I am filled with a monstrous clarity. My hands are not shaking for the first time since I opened the doors of my soul with alchemy and_ it _crawled inside me. I can write as I once did. But I will not write any more of the things I saw. I cannot. The feel of their ichor under its claws, the sickeningly familiar taste of their blood, are not things that healthy men should read._

 _Rache is half-mad, and I fear Sister Ecouland is not far behind. Von Kalmbach would not speak. He dropped his sword in the muddy street and staggered to the Tavern. I saw Gwenllian support him as he walked inside._

 _No one learned in old lore and forgotten things must be allowed to venture into that unhallowed place._

 _The shaking begins again. I cannot continue._

 _Light protect my soul, and all of us._

 _Licinius Thorel, Dr. Theol., Dr. Md._

* * *

 **Vatteville, Arbalest**

 _My Dearest,_

 _I pray that you receive this letter._

 _I have been staying in this place for many reasons. The pay is good, the work is full of terrors but I know it is a just and holy cause. But mainly, I had hoped to see you. I knew you would find yourself here eventually._

 _But now, my sweet, I beg you to stay away. There is something beneath the evil here that makes me shudder to think of it._

 _Sister Ecouland – I spoke of her in a previous letter – went with a party to the caverns beneath the manor itself. They found a door into something that I cannot imagine. Worse by far than the nightmare creature of severed heads that I told you of. Worse than anything in this life._

 _I fear for her mind. I fear for her soul. She has been so kind to me, and to see her like this is dreadful._

 _I am saying this all wrong. This may only make you want to come more. The Light knows that I cannot bring myself to leave, not with the consuming evil I know is hiding here._

 _We will overcome. But my dear daughter, my sweet Missandei, I implore you, do not come to this place. It will trap you. It has trapped Bossard, and me, and Ecouland. All of us._

 _I want to see you so badly. I want to know you are receiving these letters. Please write to me if you can._

 _Your loving mother, Vatteville._

* * *

 **The Heir**

 _My Ancestor spoke the truth. These corrupted lands are mine now, and I am a part of them. Damn him and his sick pastimes._

 _I find his scrawlings everywhere. Pages of torn journals, scrolls, annotated books that it would have been better had he never read. Why couldn't he have kept to conventional extravagances? Damn him._

 _Pevrel believes this is a holy quest. I cannot feel the same. I am consumed. I crave the evil knowledge that consumed my forefather. I feel it like a dark, pulsing sun in my mind, pulling me on, and I know that I must learn and understand and then destroy the root of all this unspeakable evil._

 _I am lying to my soldiers. I know so much that I cannot tell them. I have pieced together enough of my Ancestor's writings to know the sketch, at least, of the horrors he caused or brought here or called up. But even I did not know what was in that final crypt beneath the manor._

 _I crept along behind them. I listened at the door. I followed and heard and read and_ saw.

 _I do not know how we are not all raving mad._

 _And I must send others down again. To take the talismans into stygian depths. To light the way to… what?_

 _I do not know. But I know this: There will be a reckoning. My sins will not rest easy on my heart. And whatever is down there in the deeps will pay for the horror it has visited on my family and my world._

 _That is all._


	14. Monsters are Gross

**_Week 54 – Picvini, Jester_**

 _Something bad happened last week, and no one will tell me what it was. Gottfried's drinking even more than normal, and Thorel won't talk to me at all. Rache hasn't played her lute in ages. She keeps messing around with cymbals and gongs. I don't understand her._

 _One thing I do understand, though, and that is this: I hate pigs. I hated them before, and now that I've spent days mucking through filthy tunnels fighting filthy, horrid pig men, I hate them even worse._

 _Bosc kept rambling about their breeding habits, but I think she might have been trying to get my goat._

 _I hope so, anyway. Those suggestions don't bear contemplating. I could shudder._

 _Sgd., Picvini._

* * *

 ** _Week 55 – Dismas, Highwayman_**

 _Spotted fever. I might have fecking known._

 _The Ruins don't really seem so bad anymore, not compared with what the Weald used to be like. But if there's one breath of foul air, you can bet your last penny that I will find a way to catch it._

 _Wonder of wonders, Bosc was actually human about it. She ribbed me, but I cannot help but detect a certain humanity behind that crow mask._

 _At least, until she gave me that sludge to drink. What a horrid concoction!_

 _I should invite her out for a drink and see how she likes what_ I _mix up._

 _Not that she'd ever say yes._

 _Dismas._

* * *

 ** _Week 56 – Raoullin, Leper_**

 _The disturbing reports brought back by our scouting expeditions to the Warrens have been fully confirmed. The origin of that monstrous breed can be nothing but fell sorcery. Someone has spent a great deal of time in the work, calling up unclean spirits and binding them into the bodies of pigs, mutilating and changing them into something grotesquely like mankind._

 _I am all too familiar with this form of magic. The binding of spirits is, after all, what first tempted me into heresy, far in the East. But while I was ensnared by my wish to do good, whoever is guilty of these abominations had no good intentions, I feel certain. I have spoken to the Heir about my concerns, but he was unwontedly reticent. I believe he knows more about this than he will tell me, but that is his prerogative and burden._

 _They must be breeding. Down in the dark. And they had a master, a prince of swine, a massive corpulence of unbelievable strength. But the good blades of our soldiers hacked it down into grisly death._

 _That is not the worst. There is something down there. Something that crawls and gibbers in the tunnels. I pray we find it soon._

 _The Light prevails. Raoullin._

* * *

 ** _Week 57 – Hue, Highwaywoman_**

 _So. Fishmen. Gross._

 _Easier than killing humans, once you get used to it, but the way they gape and flop around is just awful. If I ever leave this place I swear on the soul of my first dog that I'm never going to try to steal jewelry again unless it looks really, really easy._

 _I need to wash the Cove-stink off and get a drink. Maybe I'll bump into someone interesting._

 _Hue._

* * *

 ** _Week 58 – Miron, Antiquarian_**

 _To: My Learned Correspondent:_

 _Dear sir,_

 _I have not written you in some time, I know. Not since our paths parted ways at the capital. I hope that you are well._

 _I am languishing in a dreadful Hamlet on the coast, scrounging in monster-riddled ruins for coins. It is an occupation entirely unfit for one of my learning. I remain here because I have reason to believe that our mutual acquaintance and my patron, the Duke R-, is somewhat put out with certain comments I made that he took in a very different sense than I meant._

 _I ask that you seek out the Duke and ascertain his mood and whether he would be receptive to a reconciliation. I cannot express the utter horridness of this place. I have just returned from a mission where we sought out the half-drowned hulk of a ship and hacked to pieces the rotted, half-dead, half-alive crew shackled to its beams by enchanted chains. The stink is still in my nostrils. I will go mad if I must remain._

 _Please. Help me._

 _Your Correspondent,_

 _Miron._


	15. Ecstacies of Forbidden Science!

**_Week 59 – Bossard, Bounty Hunter_**

 _Mother,_

 _I am well and whole. How is the farm? There is a great deal of rain here, and it makes me think of the seasons at home._

 _We busy ourselves with work, and with the extermination of monsters. I am helping Mathan keep order. The Hamlet is small, and it is filled to bursting with rough adventurers from many lands, so there is plenty to do._

 _Recently I went on a mission into the Ruins I have spoken of. We have almost scouted out the lair of the last living member of the necromantic circle that once held that place in its dominion. He was, I believe, their master, and within days perhaps we will have slain him, for the good of all._

 _The work is hard, but it is rewarding. I visit Adenay often._

 _I hope to see you again soon. Things progress, and I feel that we may soon triumph here._

 _Your devoted son, Bossard._

* * *

 ** _Week 60 – Von Kalmbach, Crusader_**

 _I can't remember an entire month._

 _Gwenllian tells me that I drank myself into oblivion every day for weeks. I praise the Light and its mercy that it worked. I can't remember that dungeon except in flashes that make me shudder and reach for the bottle._

 _I have kept myself sane, at least. Even if I'm in a vile condition for fighting. And my gorget smells like vomit._

 _Raoullin, even if he is a Light-forsaken scholar, has been dragging me out into the field, which helps. We tracked down an arch-necromancer in the Ruins, and after slaughtering him I almost feel myself again. Raoullin was magnificent. I thought he was going to break under the weight of that creature's spells, but he rallied like a crusader and led us to victory, cutting down gigantic, armored skeletons until my blade could reach the necromancer's heart._

 _I've put aside the bottle for the moment. A few days, at least. My body, damnably weak thing that it is, needs the rest._

 _Gottfried von Kalmbach._

* * *

 ** _Week 61 – Rache, Harlequin Jester_**

 _Shatter and crash! I feel better. Those hideous swine that swarm the Warrens have been too active lately, but we've stung them. We marched into their tunnels and I took pickaxe and shovel to their stinking shrines. The sound of them flying apart was a tonic to my soul. Steel and bone and wood clattering all around, echoing down the halls and rooms. I slaughtered one of their drummer-priests right at the foot of an altar, which seemed appropriate._

 _They must have been abducting people from miles around. There were dozens of corpses, hacked to pieces, sacrificed, partially eaten. It gave me a queer, twitching sensation, thinking about it. Fortunately, the swine are not culinary adepts, so there wasn't much temptation when we found their feasting-halls._

 _Something else, too… We found_ it. _There are doorways leading into a noisome, abysmal darkness, and before I killed that drummer I saw him pointing the way and squealing out some bestial prayer. There was something moving in the darkness. It disappeared before we could reach it, but now we know where it is. I wonder if they've been feeding us to it?_

 _The choking, tingling giddiness from that dreadful expedition is receding, although I confess a shuddery pleasure at the clash of cymbals and the brassy resonance of gongs. But I feel more sane and whole now than I have for a long time._

 _I want to hear them again._

* * *

 ** _Week 62 – Brèvedent, Plague Doctor_**

 _The fools! I knew I was right!_

 _Simpering know-nothings at the universities, refusing to admit that the stranger arts could have any interconnection with their silly, small-minded notions of anatomy and biology. There are doors and gates and worlds of fantastic science waiting, and they daren't even peek inside for fear of their precious little applecart being upset._

 _I begged the commander to let me go on this mission. I suspect he wouldn't have if he'd seen me grinning behind my mask. I knew what we would find, I've been snooping around the Heir's councils. And I was right!_

 _It is huge, so huge I cannot describe it, a constantly shifting, screaming, squealing thing, dripping with blood and unnameable fluids. It_ changes. _It grows and contracts and_ **lives** _in a way unlike anything I have ever seen. I know a little of how it came to be, unclean spirits called in from outer gates to inhabit the flesh of half-alive pigs. And the result! Ecstasies of forbidden science! I could study it for a decade and not grow tired._

 _We slashed and hacked and slew as much as we could, pumping it full of poisons and opening its veins until we were all drenched with blood, and its motion finally stilled, the whole mass seeming to liquefy and run down into darkness again. The others think it is dead, but I saved some. A little, squirming thing, an unblinking eye and a shapeless mouth, and it has not died. I am feeding it, slowly._

 _There is so much to learn!_

 _Brèvedent._

* * *

 ** _Week 63 – Berners, Grave Robber_**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _No tea this week. Shipments delayed. It's absolutely dreadful, having to go out into the wilderness and stick knives into monsters and not even have the comfort of relaxing with a cup of tea after._

 _Fortunately, the supply of spirits remains healthy._

 _The Heir tracked down some old shipping reports and sent us out to collect a few shipwrecked relics from some unspeakable foreign place. It was an uneventful trip. When you've gutted one grotesque fishman, you've gutted them all (Light, I wish that was true!)._

 _Bosc kept shooing Dismas away from anything that might have been disease-ridden, which in the Cove is most things, and complaining about having to doctor him all the time. He acted annoyed, but I have a notion he was chuckling behind his bandanna. They're acting more and more like an old married couple. Just different ways to cope, I expect._

 _Speaking of coping, I believe I'll see if Monsieur Pevrel fancies a drink._

 _Signed, Berners._

* * *

 ** _Week 63(b) – Picvini, Jester_**

 _No pigs this week. Praise the Light! Apparently we've killed their king and driven their freakish god away into the tunnels, so maybe they've gone in after it, and maybe they'll stay there. I don't particularly care to play the lute for a tavern full of folks whose children, milkmaids, etc. have been stolen away for goodness knows what horrid reason._

 _It's not that I don't sympathize, but it's awfully hard to make much profit when everyone's so damned glum._

 _Pevrel and I are going up to the dungeons beneath the manor soon. Bossard and Roussel are coming with us. They were there when the Hag was finally killed. I think Bossard did it himself._

 _Rache was looking sort of jealously at me when I told her. She shivered a bit. Strange girl, that, but at least she's playing her lute again._

 _Sgd., Picvini._


	16. Second Descent

**_Week 64 – The Darkest Dungeon: Second Descent_**

* * *

 **The Heir**

 _I am sending them again. I can feel Thorel's eyes on me, damn the man. He of all people is in no place to judge another. He at least understands enough that he will not warn them. Who knows what he might have done had it been Howard, or Couer, or Raoullin that I sent, though? One of the ones who knows things?_

 _I must consider how to circumvent him in the future. There will be more expeditions required. More soldiers to come back damaged and reeling, if they come back at all._

It is necessary. _I have written that across my journals, carved it into my bedstead, screamed it into my cushions at night._

 _I may be damned, and dragging them down with me, but I will not be denied._

* * *

 **Pevrel, Man-at-Arms**

 _War Journal, 31st Entry._

 _There is a look I see in the eyes of Von Kalmbach, Thorel, Rache, and Ecouland. I see it now in mine. In the mirror, or reflected in the bottom of a glass._

 _I did not understand what I was sending them into. The Heir told me that it was just another expedition. But those caverns beneath the manor are far, far different. Massive arcades of stone carved by no human hand, infested by nightmarish, twisted_ things. _Cultists mutated by mere proximity to the deep evils of that place, or something… else._

 _Picvini's jokes became more and more manic as we delved deeper. There were huge scorpion-things, ruined men or altogether new horrors, and the things we saw in their terrible eyes! He had the worst of it, for I learned afterwards that he had slipped his protective talisman into my pack._

 _I had meant to be the one who suffered. But fate is cruel._

 _Nothing will be the same again. I cannot find the will to rise some days. I train, because that is too ingrained in me to change. And I drink. Berners wants to comfort me, but I am torn. I could be her father. So we drink, and we talk._

 _Perhaps time will heal this wound. But I will not go back to that place, or order another to it. I have resigned my position as leader. I will take mace and shield against any other foe, but I will not go back there._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._

* * *

 **Picvini, Jester**

 _I didn't hear any gongs._

 _I guess the cultists are all dead. Dead, or changed. There was a lot of change there. Weird corridors and pillars, with that horrid fleshy stuff everywhere, stretching out at you._

 _I can't believe how long we were down there. My hair's greying now. But it was only a few days? It seems like a lifetime._

 _This must have been the place Rache went, but I don't feel jittery and strange like she did. Not anymore. I just feel tired. I can barely lift the pen. But I can't sleep._

 _I shouldn't have given my talisman to Pevrel. I saw. I heard. In their eyes… There are things written across the sky in the darkness between the stars that seem halfway legible now, like if I look up enough I will suddenly read and-_

* * *

 **Hue, Highwaywoman**

 _What in the hell is happening here? Pevrel walked in like a zombie and has just been drinking and whatever with Berners for days. I saw Bossard actually crying, and Roussel hasn't left the Abbey for days._

 _Picvini isn't really talking to me. He just mutters with Rache all the time and makes these crazy jokes about things in the sky._

 _They must have seen something really awful. What is the answer? As my dear departed father said, probably drink or dancing._

 _That's good enough for me._

* * *

 **Bossard, Bounty Hunter**

 _Mother, I hope you are well. I have just returned from an awful place. I cannot even desc_

 _Mother, I love you. Please remember me in your prayers. I have gone to_

 _Mother, I don't know what to_

 _Mother,_


	17. Third Descent

**_Week 65 – The Darkest Dungeon: Third Descent_**

* * *

 **The Heir**

 _We left in secret. There was no other way. Gwenllian and Bellecote are not given to questions, and Couer and Bosc are sufficiently secretive themselves that they understand that I cannot tell them everything._

 _It could have been disastrous if one of the others had made a scene. I cannot have my soldiers deserting, not at this crucial hour. So lies and stealth are necessary._

All of this is necessary.

 _Every glimpse I see of what lies below hardens my resolve. My whole self is tightened. I wake with my body aching from spasmodic movement in nightmares I can only half remember._

 _Nightmares like that deeper realm beneath, past the gongs and altars, below the endless corridors, lighted by strange braziers and pulsing with monstrous life._

 _The truth and reality of the_ Thing _are unspeakable. I cannot understand why we did not all flee. But Gwenllian laughed and plunged ahead, and we followed. Down mazes of flesh, sodden with vile fluids, hacking our way through creatures I cannot describe. My skin is burned and torn from their corrosive touch, but my mind is clearer now than ever._

 _We found the gateless gate, and beyond it… is beyond everything. It is what the cultists craved, what they supplicate themselves to and beg for ascension._

 _I will go into that ultimate infinity of horror, and there will be a reckoning._

* * *

 **Bosc, Plague Doctor**

 _I woke this morning to find that I had burned my anatomical textbooks in my sleep._

 _It's an interesting reaction, to say the least. Obviously there is no rational connection between the prosaic, if useful, exploration of the human body and the knowledge that deep beneath us, or possibly in some other realm entirely, there exists a creature larger than cities and nations._

 _Nevertheless, I burned them. I almost remember doing it. Babbling something about lies and nonsense._

 _Fortunately, I did not destroy my own sketches and notes. That would have been a true loss, not that they will ever be published. Damn the universities and their hubris._

 _My hand will not stop shaking as I write this. Again, an interesting reaction. I have seen large animals before. Why shouldn't there be one as large as the world? It is not outside the bounds of rationality._

 _But those enormous, horrifying cysts and the night-sky depths of their eyes!_

 _I cannot shake the feeling that there are things too awful to comprehend written in those eyes._

 _The shaking increases, but the laudanum bottle is at hand._

 _Bosc, Dr. Md., physician._

* * *

 **The Survivalist**

 _I saw them creep out. None of these town-dwellers are quiet and stealthy enough to hide from me. Certainly not the Heir._

 _I saw them creep out, and days later I saw them walk back, heads down, feet dragging. Like the last few times folks went up to the old manor house. There's something unhealthy there, not that we didn't know that before. I take gold to teach my skills to these poor fools, but damned if I'm ever going out there myself. There's enough danger just in the wilds that I don't feel the need to go seeking it out._

 _I wish Bellecote hadn't gone. He was the only one who actually kept me company, if you can call it that. He's all broken down now. Just keeps praying at the Abbey._

 _It was the same with the others. Rache, and that crusader, and poor Bossard who was always so nice to me. This place is eating them, but they resist and recover._

 _I hope Bellecote recovers. I don't want to get used to sleeping alone out here again._

* * *

 **Couer, Occultist**

Written in a language of the East.

 _Howard was right._

 _I can feel the bile rising in my throat as I write those words. Even looking at them disgusts me. But he was right. There are depths and dreams and horrors that are too abysmally terrible to even think upon and remain well._

 _I have performed the ceremonial ablutions to cleanse myself. Twice, three times, a dozen? The scent of incense is stinging my nostrils even now. And I do not feel clean._

 _My hands have touched things that ought not even be seen. My eyes have beheld that which ought not even be thought of. My mind caresses ideas and speculations that ought not be possible, and being possible, cannot be entertained without flirting with madness._

 _Howard was right. I want to vomit at the thought._

 _I can never leave this place, now. I cannot go back down there, and if I stay I will rot, and if I leave I will go mad._

 _The One Prophet lied. He never saw the Light. There is no ultimate Light, no warmth for the soul. All is darkness, and abominable movements in uttermost space, and the cold cruelty of the piercing stars._

 _Nouh ibn Abdolreza._


	18. Penultimate Awakenings

**_Week 66 – Thorel, Abomination_**

 _I wrote before that Rache was half-mad. She was worse than I thought._

 _Think it was Picvini coming back that sent her over. He saw things down there. Things he could not understand. Heard him talking about writing in the stars, saw him murmuring with Rache._

 _She started shaking again after they talked. And in the Weald something came over her. There was a thing of slime. Some corrosive, spreading obscenity. Big as a bear. She worked herself into a frenzy and ran right at it._

 _Gwenllian tried to stop her, but the thing hit Rache like a wave and crushed her to the earth. Broke things inside. Hands shook too much to help her._

 _I carried her back and we buried her at the Abbey._

 _Writing too much. Hands hurt. Everything hurts._

 _Moon's coming up and I have to let_ it _out. Forget for a while._

 _Licinius Thorel, Dr. Theol., Dr. Md._

* * *

 ** _Week 66(b) – Von Kalmbach, Crusader_**

 _They say you should count your blessings. Here they are: I can drink again. I'm having less nightmares about that monstrous dungeon, so there's more time for nightmares about the crusade. I only want to throw myself on my sword every other hour or so. Thank you, Light, for your grace. Ha._

 _Gwenllian's feeling better. At least she's gotten more tigerish in bed again. Lay there like a fish the first few days after that expedition. Can't sin too much with a fish, can you? And you can't repent and be forgiven if you don't sin._ Ave Lux, Ave sancti Luminis, Ave Lumen quod purificat, _and so forth._

 _She and I understand each other. We are both outcasts, warriors adrift who washed up in the same filthy seaside town to carry our weapons into a place of madness and death._

 _I was lost without her. Damn me for a fool. And the way back to the Elector's good graces and reinstatement to the Von Kalmbach titles and fortunes is not bringing back an axe-swinging spirit-swilling barbarian wench as my bride. Damn all nobles and titles and wars._

 _Gottfried von Kalmbach._

* * *

 ** _Week 67 – Picvini, Jester_**

 _Clarity, it seems, comes at a high price._

 _I am emerging from a hole, clambering up out of a dark place in my mind that reminds me of nothing so much as the oubliette back at court._

 _Rache lit up when she saw me come back from the manor. We talked into the night, her of sound and me of the stars, and it seemed like my heart was going to hammer out of my throat with sheer crazed giddy joy._

 _We talked, and then we were together, and I took my mask off and she didn't mind the scars the torturer left to teach me how not to talk to tyrants. The missing teeth. The missing nose._

 _And now she's dead. It was a coin flip, I guess. We were both mad. One of us was going to do something stupid in a rush of weird and dizzy ecstasy, and it was her first, and she died._

 _I helped bury her. And it woke me up._

 _I meditated, and prayed. And I went with Thorel and Von Kalmbach and Rosai the Vestal into the Ruins. There, I could feel the sensation rising up to choke me and send me running into the enemy's spears, but I thought of Rache and I resisted. We had to make a fighting withdrawal. But we all lived._

 _I lived, and Rache died._

 _I will never forget._

 _Sgd., Picvini._

* * *

 ** _Week 67(b) – Dismas, Highwayman_**

 _Bosc has gone insane._

 _I saw her in the street and she stopped,_ took her mask off, _and_ smiled _at me._

 _Something she saw on that last expedition must have shaken her brains. We talked, actually talked, like people do. We ate together. She made fun of me. I made fun of her. We drank a toast to Reynauld's memory._

 _Maybe I am the one going crazy._

 _The Heir says this will all soon be over. Thank the Light. Maybe there will be some peace._

 _Dismas._

* * *

 ** _Week 67(c) – Pevrel, Man-at-Arms_**

 _I said never again. I said that I could not go._

 _Berners and I have become more than friends. We are so different. I am coarse, slow, practical; she is quick and polished and young._

 _She says she started falling in love with me the first time I slammed my shield into a brigand's face in the Weald as he was about to knife her. I remember that time. She planted a dagger right between his teeth a second later._

 _Have I ever been in love? I've been campaigning so long. Too long._

 _Never again, I said. Never down into those deeps._

 _She is going there. I know the Heir has told her._

 _She said she fell in love with me when I first put my shield between her and death._

 _Pevrel, a private soldier._


	19. Final Descent

**_Week 68 – The Darkest Dungeon: Final Descent_**

* * *

 ** _Before the Descent_**

* * *

 **Raoullin, Leper**

 _I feel a strange compulsion to write._

 _We are preparing for a journey, and I have little to pack. Food, a few books, my sword. I sit here listening to the clamor of the town, and I feel that I am not coming back._

 _I am a sinner. I have dipped my hands into foul wells that should never have been uncovered, and the stain is on my skin for ever._

 _There is forgiveness in the Light, and the expiation of sins. I have done all that I was asked. My gifts have been used to slay the wicked and protect the innocent. I have put my body between the darkness and the weak it preys upon._

 _Is it enough? Will yet more be required of me?_

 _For the great evil I have done, I will pay any penance. My body fails, it withers and dies, but my strength remains to me and I will not rest._

 _I have known for years that I would fall in the service of the Light. The premonition is stronger now than it ever has been before. But I am at peace._

 _Of all that I know, this is sure:_ The Light prevails.

 _Raoullin._

* * *

 **The Heir**

 _At last._ At last.

 _We are armed and ready. Spell, sword, talisman… There is nothing more that I can do. My heart shudders in my chest. This sensation is as keen as the sharpest razor. It is like being drunk._

 _There is a gate and a door, and an infinity behind it that I will walk through and drive my dagger into the heart of the Thing._

 _We may all perish. I do not know or care. My regrets have been purged by the aching, terrible joy of this proximity to the end._

 _This is necessary, and not only that. It is_ pleasure.

 _We go, at once._

* * *

 ** _After_**

* * *

 **The Heir**

 _I don't think they noticed me laughing. Or was I screaming?_

 _I don't think they heard my venerable Ancestor at all, really. Or if they did, only in meaningless mouthings of dead languages. Possibly Raoullin understood, but that's not a problem anymore, is it?_

 _The Thing! It was glorious! Maddening and obscene, beautiful and deserving of adoration! The endless reflections of my Ancestor's face, twisting and changing, the revelations of the truth of this world… I must hurry, and write it all down now, quickly._

 _I saw him hacked to pieces again and again, heard those grim tones ringing in my ears. Heard the truth. We live on a filthy stone shell cradling a creature of incandescent glory._

 _No, not_ creature. **Creator.**

 _The TRUTH! The reality, the stark and thrilling sensation, the freedom of utter despair! How could I have thought of raising hand against it? I must wr-_

[The text breaks off suddenly.]

* * *

 **Dismas, Highwayman**

 _I am a thief and a murderer, a killer of women and children, and next to that filthy, scheming bastard who's been paying me I hold myself blameless._

 _I saw it in his eyes._ He knew.

 _Bosc has been down there. Bosc, and Rache, and Pevrel. How he brought himself to go back I will never know. No one will ever know. He is dead._

 _The Heir knew what was down there. He got more and more crazed as we walked through that spiraling insanity. Damn him! He took us all with him and_ he knew what was down there!

 _The memories squirm and fade as I try to lay my hands on them. My blood-soaked hands._

 _I can't believe that he lied to us for so long. I can't believe that he would do what he did. And for what? For what?_

 _It doesn't matter. He's never coming back to the Hamlet again._

 _Raoullin is dead. He was slaughtered in the act of raising his sword against the Thing, a hymn of praise to the Light echoing in the shadows. Much good the Light did him in this world. I pray it does better by him in the next._

 _Pevrel is dead, too. He went a bit mad, I think. Started cutting himself when the things in the dark weren't attacking him. But he kept his senses enough that when that horrid, great Heart surged at us, he threw himself between us and death._

 _Berners slew it. She screamed at it and carved it to ribbons until it sank away into nothingness._

 _The Heir just watched. He dropped his weapons and watched._

 _He knew it was down there. And I saw that crazed look on his face. That mad grin. He knew and he did this to us._

 _Berners helped me. After we'd all staggered back into the sane world. She held him down while I did it, and we listened to him gurgle as he bled out._

 _He deserved worse than a cut throat._

 _I don't know what I'm going to do now. Stay here, at the Hamlet. There is evil aplenty to slay here, still. Everyone I know is here. Bosc is here._

 _Is there even a world outside the Hamlet, or was that all a dream?_

 _Dismas._

* * *

 **Berners, Grave Robber**

 _Am I being punished for not feeling enough when the others died? Is that why?_

 _Am I just doomed to love people who fade and fall and pass away? My father and his debts. My first love and his stupid political games._

 _Pevrel, you were the best of them. All that weakness and sin in the rest, but you were strong. Tired and hurt but always strong. And you died for a madman's vain pride._

 _Where will I go now? What am I to do?_

 _My ink pot is running out, Diary. And the words aren't coming anymore. I will regain my composure soon, and this pain will fade._

 _It will fade._

 _Signed, Berners._

* * *

 **Pevrel, Man-at-Arms**

An unfinished letter left behind at the Hamlet.

 _I am an old man._

 _I'm tired, Berners. My bones are weary. My heart is weary._

 _I've been a soldier since before you were born. I've seen men and women die in the dirt of a hundred campaigns. There has been little sweetness in my life._

 _There is so much I want to ask you. I want to hear you talk about your life, about the things you read. You've read much more than I have. I want to listen to your heartbeat in the morning again, and feel your hair brushing my skin._

 _It was too hard to actually say it. I have never been in love before, I think. But I love you._

 _You have given an old soldier a few days, a few hours, to be happy. I will not be here forever, and I want you to have sunlight and joy when I am gone._

 _There is a love song I hear you singing, sometimes, when you look and me and give me that crooked smile. I don't know the language, and I don't know the words. But sing it for me again, some day._

 _Sing it for me, and let me hear you say, once more, that you love me. Let me tell you that I love you._

 _Sunlight and joy to you, my only love._


	20. Interlude: The Heiress

The Darkest Dungeon has been cleared, and the Thing is quiescent for now. But evil lurks in every corner of the shadowed and ill-fated Hamlet, vile things squirm and titter in the swamps, and a letter has been sent to the next Heir...

 ** _Dear Aunt Eglantine,_**

 _Some days ago I received a letter from a certain over-enthusiastic, unintelligent, wine-soaked heathen bastard cousin of mine, delivered simultaneously with the news that he had died on our mutual Ancestor's estate. I am aware that you are, or I should say you were, rather more fond of the simpering moron than I was, so I offer you what condolences I am able._

 _I had heard through the grapevine some small piece of what went on at that miserable Hamlet that he inherited a year or two ago. The esoteric weirdness of the Ruins, the hag-haunted Weald, the monstrosities infesting Warrens and Cove. But I have to admit I never expected him to actually perish there. I didn't think he would leave his rooms, to be perfectly honest, but he seems to have found the nerve and then gone mad and cut his own throat – or so the letter I got said. It was signed by one Bosc, who seems to be a doctor, so she should know._

 _I've consulted with my solicitors, and to my deep disgust I find that I am now the sole owner and Lady of the Hamlet, manor, and surrounding lands. As much as I despise the thought, I find myself also compelled to respond in a manner befitting my bloodline and take possession. With any luck, I will be able to fill out some of the bizarre skeleton of stories I've heard with the meat of fact._

 _An agent of mine told me recently that Miron, that snooping, thieving academic who's been so deep in the counsels of a certain vicious Duke you and I are both acquainted with, has been at the Hamlet for quite some time. It's possible she has cut ties with the Duke, but I consider it more likely that she is conducting some kind of research for him. Perhaps I will be able to find out what, exactly. We are not exactly welcome in the courts despite our ancestral titles and familial wealth, so we pose no threat to him. There must be something else she is looking for._

 _My dear cousin's letter also contained some… well. You know how peculiar he could be. I think he'd delved rather more deeply into our Ancestor's books and notes than he was really equipped for. He never had my mental fortitude, and he was much too given to considering heresy to be interesting simply because it was heresy, no matter how dull the ideas actually were._

 _At any rate, I am beginning to ramble. I wish you the very best, my dear Aunt, and I apologize if I've spoken too ill of our mutual kinsman, Light rest his worthless soul. I go now to take possession of the Hamlet and environs. I will do my best to keep you up to date, but I suspect I will be extremely busy, so do not wait up for my letters._

 _Yours in familial love and affection,_

 _Wilhelmina Constantine von W-, Heiress and Lady of the Hamlet._


	21. Darkest Dungeon Diaries Update

First, thanks to all of you who enjoyed this story!

For those who did not know, I continued the _Darkest Dungeon Diaries_ on through the _Crimson Court_ DLC. Unadvisedly, I did that in a separate story, so many of you probably missed it. I'm glad to report that I've finished the _Crimson Court Correspondences_ and continued the diary-writing on into the _Color of Madness_ DLC, and I'd love it if you wanted to check them out, too.

You can find all of those stories here. I hope you like them as much as I liked writing them.


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